


resolutions and lovers in the kitchen

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Louis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Journalist Louis, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Harry, Pregnancy Kink, Riding, Rimming, Sex Toys, Teacher Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their dinner’s probably going cold, but this feels monumental. So instead of sitting them down on the table and talking about it face to face over chicken and pasta, Harry just puts his hands over Louis’ where they’re settled on his lower stomach, not letting the moment slip past them. He takes a deep breath, carefully arranging his thoughts. “She looks really lovely, Louis. Positively glowing. Her bump’s so big, and…” he trails off, breath hitching slightly when Louis lifts his hand higher, settling it right over Harry’s stomach, and that’s—</p><p>“And what, baby?” Louis asks, voice now dropped to a whisper, and Harry has to take a moment to collect his thoughts.</p><p>“She, um. She knows about you, of course, and she asked me when we’re—when we’re having a baby of our own.”</p><p> </p><p>(harry teaches little kids and louis writes sports articles. they're trying for a baby.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	resolutions and lovers in the kitchen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stylescantstop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylescantstop/gifts).



> this was originally just supposed to be pwp strictly following the prompt buuuut i thought, why not expand on it a little yeah? have a bit of harmless fun with it and all. but then it just... ran away... from me... completely... RIP.
> 
> for my prompter, i hope you'll like this! i tried my best to include as much from your tags as possible, and i know you originally wanted talks of harry getting pregnant to make the sex hotter but it somehow turned into a major thing in the fic. everything i touch turns into fluff ;-;
> 
> title from 'selene' by imagine dragons.
> 
>  **UPDATE:** authors have been revealed!! hiiii =)
> 
> big thanks to [leah](http://supernope.tumblr.com/) for the beta!! couldn't have done it without you!! and much love to [avah](http://bgayb.tumblr.com/) and [kiarra](http://fuckedinfrisco.tumblr.com/) for being so supportive and listening to me talk about this fic, and giving it an early read! you're all incredible *u*

Harry’s favorite thing about his job, without a doubt, is interacting with the children.

He’s always had a soft spot for them. When he was a kid he would always play with stuffed animals and lifelike dolls far more than Gemma ever did, and he even took on a babysitting job when he was fifteen (aside from his morning shift at the bakery, of course). He just had this natural instinct to look after and take care of a smaller life, even though the children sometimes threw tantrums and demanded he call their mums. He used to quiz his own mum about pregnancy and childcare, too, endlessly fascinated by her experiences when she was still carrying him, and by the time Harry turned seventeen he was completely certain of two things: one, he would someday like to have a child (or a dozen) of his own, and two, he would like to teach children as a profession.

So here he is ten years later, surrounded by fifteen six-year-olds, paint splattered all over his hands and shirt and even his face. He’s pretty sure he’s also got some in his hair—Maddie did tug on the tie of his bun earlier, and she had been finger-painting—and the room’s a complete chaos of splattered paint and rumpled paper, but he just can’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face.

Especially not when he hears a knock on his classroom door, and when he turns his head he sees Louis standing there, smiling half-sympathetically and half-fondly at him. There’s a softness to his expression, though, something almost wistful in the way his eyes scan over the chaos that is Harry’s kindergarten class.

“Teacher Harry!” Joshua shouts from his little table near the door, waving a paint-smattered toothbrush in the air. “Mr. Louis is here!”

Slowly, Harry untangles his legs from their crossed position on the carpeted floor, holding onto the edge of the teacher’s desk for support as he pushes himself up. There are little paint fingerprints all over his gray trousers from where his students have excitedly poked and prodded at him, proudly showing him their finished work. Harry had given all of them five stars, which resulted in their paint-smeared fingers pinching at his cheeks in glee.

That was fifteen minutes ago, and now he’s given his students the next half hour as free painting time. He can feel the stains on his face starting to dry, stretched over the skin of his cheeks when he smiles at Louis who’s leaning against the door, waiting for him.

“Got out of work early?” he asks once he reaches his mate, leaning in to give him just a quick kiss on the cheek. They _are_ currently in a room full of very young students, and anything more than that is probably inappropriate. Okay, definitely inappropriate.

Louis shrugs, reaching up to brush at Harry’s cheek. His thumb comes away covered in drying pink paint, and there’s a glint of fond amusement in his eyes. Harry just pretends to sigh long-sufferingly, smacking Louis lightly on the chest and just—keeping his hand there for a moment, feeling Louis’ steady heartbeat beneath his palm.

“I’m going to need a really long shower later,” he sighs. Perhaps Louis can join him. Now is neither the time nor the place to ask, though.

“That you do,” Louis laughs softly, brushing his hair behind his ear, and Harry grips onto the fabric of his shirt. “Finished that interview I needed to do,” Louis adds, after a few seconds of them just staring softly at each other, his voice softer.

They probably look a bit sickening, and on the off-chance that Niall were to pass by outside his room and see the two of them right now they’d most definitely get teased mercilessly, children present or not (it’s happened before, and Harry had to spend an entire week trying to get the kids to stop singing “ _Louis and Harry sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”_ every time he so much as mentioned Louis in passing).

“Just need to translate it into a report and email it to my editor later.”

Harry blinks. He’s about to tell Louis to go home now so he can get started, but one of the kids is suddenly shouting, “Teacher Harry! Lisa just stole my blue paint!”

Harry turns around and sees that, in the five minutes he’s got his back turned to the class, the kids have somehow managed to turn one of the walls into their own personal canvas, there are probably twice as many pieces of rumpled paper on the floor, and Miller and Lisa are fighting over a tube of paint. He groans, turning wide eyes at Louis, and Louis just pats him on the cheek twice as though to say ‘good luck.’

Harry leaves Louis by the door just long enough to settle the kids down, bringing out another box of poster paint and giving the blue one to Lisa. Miller complains that Lisa used up half of his so he should be the one getting the new tube, but Lisa won’t give the paint up and Harry ends up letting Miller choose a new color. He takes the green tube after some thought, and then somehow the rest of the children swarm around Harry and start taking colors of their own, leaving the white tube the only untouched paint in the box.

Sighing (though he still can’t quite shake away the small smile playing at his lips), he returns the box inside the drawer of his desk, making a mental note to buy more paint for their next art session. When he turns to the door he sees Louis still standing there, phone in hand and brows furrowed. He’s probably typing notes for his story, or maybe sorting out the information he got from the interview and making an outline for his report.

“You should go home,” Harry says, once he’s sure the children are focused on their paintings again.“I still have an hour to go before dismissal.” Of course, Louis already knows this. He knows Harry’s schedule, just as everything else about Harry, like the back of his hand.

“I’ll just wait outside in the car,” Louis shrugs.

“For a full hour?” Harry crosses his arms and shakes his head, pouting. “Lou, you should just wait for me at home. Get started on that story, I know you have a deadline.”

“No, really, I’d like to stay—I’ve got most of the details sorted out, anyway,” Louis insists, lifting his phone and confirming that yes, he is typing down a draft of his story. Technology is wonderful. “And besides, I want to drive you home. S’been a while.”

‘Been a while’ here meaning all of three days, but Harry can’t really argue with that (they’re both still incredibly clingy, even after nearly seven years), so it’s with a sigh that he relents. “Fine.” He narrows his eyes playfully and pokes Louis on the arm, adds, “No way am I letting you wait in the car, though, so come on in.” He tugs on Louis’ sleeve and pulls him into the room before Louis can even respond, making him sit down behind the teacher’s desk. Technically, having another adult who is not part of the faculty inside the classroom while classes are in session isn’t allowed, but luckily for them Liam happens to be their principal, and he’s also one of their closest friends so he lets Harry and Louis get away with it.

Besides, the children love Louis—this isn’t exactly the first time he’s sat in, though he has never stayed longer than an hour. The children tend to get too distracted by his presence, running to him and asking him questions and making it impossible for Harry to conduct his lessons and planned activities for the day properly (and that’s also because Harry would rather just sit back and admire what Louis is like while talking to the kids, but no one has to know that).

Which, speaking of—almost immediately the kids come running towards Louis, waving their paintings at him excitedly and screaming for his attention.

Harry watches fondly as Louis slides his phone back into his pocket so he can bend down and look at the children’s drawings, smile bright and eyes crinkled at the corners. Harry sighs dreamily as Louis listens raptly to Diane, who’s explaining her painting of what looks to be a purple dragon, and he can feel warmth and longing blooming in his chest at the thought of having that with Louis someday. Hopefully soon.

After all, they’ve been together nearly seven years now, and it’s only a matter of time before they finally start a family of their own.

He met Louis during his final year of university through their mutual friend, Niall, at someone’s birthday party at some high end club. Harry can’t exactly remember who and where it was. He just knows that Niall’s the one who dragged him along and introduced him to Louis.

Louis himself was just two years out of uni back then, working as a journalist for one of their local papers, though he wasn’t officially part of the staff. He had been a stringer at the time, frustrated at the infrequency in which his submitted stories get actually published, and Harry had listened with rapt attention as Louis patiently explained what any of the things he was saying meant (and Louis had listened just as intently as Harry probably blabbered on about how he’d like to teach).

For the entire first night of their meeting, that’s all they did—talk about things, share a few drinks and exchange stories. It was a little odd, because Harry’s never met an alpha quite like Louis before in that kind of setting—usually the alphas Harry encountered at clubs exuded this overly-macho aura, postures always stiff and firm like they’re constantly reasserting their dominance. Louis, while very obviously an alpha just from the way he smells (strong like pure tea and menthols, with a touch of something earthly like damp soil and freshly cut grass, though Harry never admitted to subtly getting a sniff off of the collar of Louis’ shirt that night until a year into their official relationship), he doesn’t really _demonstrate_ it forcibly. You’ll just _know_ , just by looking at him.

He’s obviously smaller and slighter than the usual alpha, but he’s muscled in all the right places. He just screamed confidence that night, even while slouched in their booth, all sharp angles and cheekbones that could probably cut through glass. He was obviously strong, too (though Harry didn’t get to fully realize just how _strong_ exactly until a few months later, when he was constantly getting lifted up against walls), _and_ he had messy hair and scruff, a combination that had Harry wanting to snuggle up against his side and just… rub their skin together all over.

Louis was so very alpha and Harry, despite his taller-than-average height and broad shoulders, was so very omega that even Niall expected them to hook up that night. Somehow, though, despite the two of them being so obviously into each other, they didn’t do anything except swap numbers and kiss just once at the end of the night, before they parted ways outside the club’s doors.

From there on it was flirting through texts for an entire week, before the both of them gave in and decided to meet up for afternoon tea. Afternoon tea turned into dinner, dinner turned into a movie night at Louis’ flat, movie night turned into heated snogging on the couch as _Notting Hill_ played in the background, and they ended up in tangled limbs and bodies pressed close beneath the covers of Louis’ single bed.

It didn’t take long for them to become official, and just a few dates later Harry had a boyfriend. Niall had been absolutely delighted, of course—he both supported and teased the hell out of Louis and Harry, and basically claimed that he was some kind of heaven-sent matchmaker, like Louis and Harry’s own personal cupid (those were his exact words). Harry didn’t really mind the teasing, often just hiding his blush by pressing his face into Louis’ shoulder. That, of course, prompted another round of teasing, but they knew Niall was just… well, being Niall.

Harry loved doing couple things. Right from the start one of his favorite thing to do was wear Louis’ clothes so he’d smell like the alpha. Not only did it make Harry feel less lonely on nights where he had to hole up in his dorm room and cram for his dozens of exams and papers, but it also made alphas that usually bother Harry stay away. He would stay at Louis’ flat whenever he could and cook dinner for them, sometimes teaching Louis some simpler recipes so that the alpha wouldn’t have to rely on pizza and takeout every night.

They moved in together right after graduation, and it was on the same day that they finally bonded.

Naturally, Harry knew that marriage would be the next step. They were officially mates, and he very well planned on spending the rest of his life with Louis. It wasn’t until three years later that Louis proposed to him, however, but Harry understood why—they both focused on their careers first, Louis eventually making it as an official reporter in the local paper and then resigning after a year of gaining experience so he could apply for a bigger agency. He got accepted and was assigned the sports beat, and it’s where he’s writing for up till now. Harry managed to land a job at one of their local public elementary schools, and after working there for two years he got offered a better deal at another place, the one where he’s currently working at.

So they got married at twenty-six and twenty-eight, and now eight months later here they are. Mates. Husbands. And trying for a baby.

At least, Harry thinks they’re doing the last part. They haven’t _actually_ discussed it, for whatever reason, though Louis is perfectly aware that Harry’s stopped taking birth control pills since his last heat three months ago. Despite the lack of communication, however, Harry is _pretty_ sure that Louis is ready to have children (yes, plural) with him.

Actually… watching the way Louis’ eyes practically sparkle when Miller shyly hands him his drawing, Harry is _definitely_ sure that Louis is ready to properly start a family with him.

~

“What did Miller give you?” Harry asks that night, as he adds the finishing touches to dinner and Louis sets the table. It’s a routine they have, though sometimes they’d just order Chinese and tuck in on their couch, and other times Louis would surprise Harry with a recipe he learned from Jay. Louis’ never really been one for cooking, but when he does he spends an awful lot of concentration and effort into it. It’s one of Harry’s favorite things about him.

Louis comes up behind him, hugging him around the middle as he turns the stove off. “It’s a drawing he made of you and me.”

Something warm settles in Harry’s chest at that. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Louis’ voice comes out as fond. “It’s just two stick figures, really, one blue and one green”—Harry remembers Miller complaining about Lisa stealing his blue paint, then the young boy choosing the green paint from the box—“but it was really sweet. All the kids are, really. They probably got it from their teacher.”

Harry bites down on his smile, feeling heat creeping onto his cheeks. “Shut up.”

Louis laughs, pressing a kiss behind Harry’s ear. “One of the other kids, Clare I think, told me she’s going to have a baby brother in a few weeks.”

Harry sucks in a quiet breath at that. Of course, he already knows that one of Clare’s mums is pregnant. Her name is Gina and Harry had met her a few times before during meetings. He’d cooed over her baby bump every time, embarrassingly enough. She’s nice, Harry remembers, letting him touch her bump with a wistful sigh every time. They’ve also talked—more like gushed, really—about possible baby names, so yes, Harry is perfectly aware that Clare is about to become a big sister.

But Louis choosing to talk about it in particular, out of all the countless stories he probably heard from all of Harry’s students earlier, it feels like he’s hinting at something. Normally, Harry is very good at reading his mate, at knowing what he’s trying to say without actually saying it, but the topic of pregnancy has been a bit of a delicate one for both of them, for some reason. They’ve never actually directly touched it, even though Harry can feel that they’re both ready to have kids of their own, so he takes the time to think of a response.

After a while, he says, “Yeah, I’ve met her mum. Well, one of her mums, the pregnant one—Gina. Her wife works a lot and rarely comes to PTA meetings, but yeah, Gina and I have talked.”

“Oh?” is all Louis says, but Harry knows that tone—Louis is asking him to elaborate.

Their dinner’s probably going cold, but this feels monumental. So instead of sitting them down on the table and talking about it face to face over chicken and pasta, Harry just puts his hands over Louis’ where they’re settled on his lower stomach, not letting the moment slip past them. He takes a deep breath, carefully arranging his thoughts. “She looks really lovely, Louis. Positively glowing. Her bump’s so big, and…” he trails off, breath hitching slightly when Louis lifts his hand higher, settling it right over Harry’s stomach, and that’s—

“And what, baby?” Louis asks, voice now dropped to a whisper, and Harry has to take a moment to collect his thoughts.

“She, um. She knows about you, of course, and she asked me when we’re—uh, when we’re having a baby of our own.”

There. It’s out in the open, finally, and Harry holds his breath, waiting for Louis to say something. A few seconds pass, before Harry feels a press of lips at the base of his neck, then at his jaw, then below his ear. Finally, Louis’ mouth brushes over the shell of Harry’s ear, and he only whispers one single word: “Soon.”

Harry lets out the breath he was holding, feeling the warmth that’s settled in his chest start to spread, making him melt back slightly against Louis. “Yeah?” is all he says, is all he _can_ say.

When he turns his head, Louis is looking at him with soft, almost faraway eyes. “Yeah,” is his response, and it feels like a promise.

~

It’s on a weekend in the middle of April when it happens.

One thing that hasn’t changed much throughout the years is just how _messy_ Louis is. Sure, he’s managed to learn to keep the corridors and the living room free from his clothes (save for a few scattered pairs of Vans here and there) but their bedroom is still a mess of worn t-shirts on the floor and printed report drafts on the table. It doesn’t get _too_ bad anymore, unlike when they were just starting to properly live together and Harry picked up after Louis almost everyday, but once every few weeks Harry still goes on a cleaning spree just to clear things up and put stuff in their proper places.

So Friday night, Harry decides that he’s going to do some cleaning up the following morning—Louis will be covering a local inter-high school football match for half the day, and Harry doesn’t have anything to do since his lessons for the next week are already prepared, so it’ll be a good time to tidy things up in their room.

That was the plan. Except.

Except when Harry wakes up on Saturday morning, with the bed beside him already empty and a small handwritten note sitting on their nightstand, he immediately feels… feverish. The windows are closed but the curtains are drawn up, letting sunlight stream in, and Harry rushes to open it. He sighs in relief when the breeze from outside touches his warm skin, and he stays standing in front of the window for a moment, pressing his forehead against the cool glass as he takes deep, steadying breaths.

He recognizes what’s happening to him, of course. It’s not an intense feeling just yet, and after taking a few more breaths to collect himself he stands straight back up and decides to start his day. Louis will be home later, he tells himself. Hopefully, he’d still be okay for a couple more hours.

With that thought in mind, Harry quickly reads the note Louis left him—just a simple but sweet message that makes Harry smile softly to himself, despite the heat that’s slowly but surely starting to lick at his veins—before he hops into their bathroom for a quick cold shower. That’ll cool him down for a while. Hopefully.

~

Not even two hours later, Harry realizes that no, the shower didn’t really cool him down. He’s just wearing boxers and a shirt—Louis’ shirt, of course—with his hair pulled up into a bun because he just feels _so hot_. He’s sweating and panting just slightly, kneeling down on the floor where he’s trying to reach for one of Louis’ Vans that somehow made its way under their couch. He sits back on his heels once he manages to pull it out, breathing a little heavier than he did a minute ago as sweat beads on his forehead.

He wipes the sweat away with the back of his hand as he gets up, knees trembling. He drops down onto the couch a second later and groans, partly in frustration and partly due to the fact that he can feel his heat really starting now. It’s only a matter of time before he starts producing slick, so he resigns himself to the fact that he’s not going to get any more cleaning done for today.

Feeling heat prickling at his skin to an almost uncomfortable degree, he reaches for his phone on the coffee table and dials Louis’ number. If he remembers correctly, the inter-high school footie competition lasts till the afternoon, but Louis’ only meant to cover the opening ceremony and the morning matches since one of his co-workers will be replacing him to cover the afternoon games. Still, it’s just a few minutes past ten, so Louis won’t be home for another two hours at the very least.

Harry bites his lip, hesitating for a moment. Then he calls.

The phone rings. And rings. And rings, and rings, and rings. With each second that passes Harry feels the effects of his heat more and more, like he’s slowly but surely getting submerged in steaming water. His skin prickles with sweat, breaths coming out shakier and shakier, and he waits another second before the phone server says that Louis’ phone cannot be reached at the moment.

A frustrated kind of whimper slips past his lips. He doesn’t try to call again—instead he gets up on shaky legs, phone still clutched in one hand, and makes his way into their room. It’s only for two hours or so, he tells himself. He can handle himself for that long.

He sets his phone down on their nightstand and bends down to open their bottom drawer, biting his lip as he feels himself start to get wet. He quickly grabs one of their dildos—the biggest one, because he gets a little more desperate in heat—and hurriedly removes his boxers before it gets soaked with his slick. He opts to leave his shirt on, because it’s Louis’ and the alpha’s scent clings to the fabric.

The sheets feel cool against Harry’s heated skin when he lies down, and faintly in the back of his mind he registers that he’s going to have to replace the bedding after this. He doesn’t particularly care about that at the moment, though—right now he needs to get off. He bends his knees and plants his feet on the mattress, reaching down between his legs to give his already-hard cock a few tugs.

He doesn’t linger there for too long, though, body practically screaming at him to touch himself where he needs it most. He reaches behind one of his thighs and touches his arse, slipping further until the tip of his fingers touch the slick puckered skin of his rim.

A moan slips past his lips at the first touch, and he doesn’t tease himself further before he slides two fingers right inside himself. His hips lift from the bed at the sudden feeling, trying to angle higher so that he can twist and crook his fingers deeper.

His body is already open and ready, like any other omega in heat, but he still takes time to finger himself. He likes the build-up and the anticipation, usually likes to tease himself whenever he’s doing this alone, but due to his current state it’s more rushed and messier. He hurriedly tucks in a third finger beside the first two and tries to reach deeper to get at his prostate, ignoring the faint ache that’s starting to throb in his wrist.

If Louis were only here, Harry faintly thinks, then this would be so much better. Louis’ fingers are shorter than his but slightly thicker and oh so clever, and they can easily find Harry’s spot with just a few practiced crooks. Louis knows just where to touch, knows just when to bend his fingers, knows just how to drive Harry over the edge with nothing but an insistent and achingly good pressure against his prostate.

The thought of his alpha makes Harry whimper, and with his other hand he reaches up and tugs the collar of Louis’ shirt up to his nose, breathing in Louis’ scent deeply. It fills his nose and makes his head feel lighter, makes him feel just a little bit dizzy.

He keeps Louis’ shirt over his nose as he continues fucking himself with his fingers, rocking his hips back into it and imagining that it’s Louis’ digits sliding in and out of him. His eyes flutter shut and his body shakes with a loud moan as he manages to brush over his prostate, and he twists his fingers, wrist starting to ache.

He’s wet, arse dripping and precome leaking from the tip of his cock, Louis’ shirt and the sheets clinging to his sweaty skin. He tightens his grip on the fabric of Louis’ shirt as he feels his thighs start to tremble, stomach starting to twist as heat pools low in his gut. He’s nearing the edge already, body worked up with the intensity of his heat. His toes curl and dig into the sheets when his fingers manage to find his prostate once more, mouth falling open in a gasp.

From there on it’s just quick and messy, frantic fingers twitching inside himself as he presses Louis’ shirt under his nose. When he comes, his back arches from the bed and a loud cry of Louis’ name slips past his lips. He drops back down on the bed a second later, chest rising and falling heavily with the intensity of his first orgasm. He only experiences relief for a few blissful seconds, though, the need to be filled kicking in again almost immediately. He whimpers and rolls onto his side, reaching for the dildo that somehow ended up near the pillows.

Holding it down on the bed with one hand, he rises up on his knees and positions himself above it. Louis’ shirt clings to his back, his hair still up in a messy bun with the loose strands sticking to the back of his neck and plastered to his sweaty forehead. There’s drying come near the hem of Louis’ shirt and a wet patch on the sheets, but Harry doesn’t give any of these details more than a second’s attention.

He lowers himself, feeling the plastic tip of the toy slip over his slick rim. He holds it steadier around the base and then presses his hips down, biting back a whimper when the head slips into his stretched, open hole. Once that’s inside, the rests slides in easily after, aided by his slick as he sinks down.

He moans once he’s sat down fully, taking a second to breathe deeply through his nose, loving the feeling of finally being filled and stretched. The toy feels big inside him, and though it’s still not as big as Louis, it nudges at his prostate _just_ right once he starts rocking down slightly, tilting his hips back to get the right angle.

He starts riding the dildo, pulling himself up just slightly before sinking right back down almost immediately. He limits his movements to just short pulls, still too frantic for an immediate release to properly ride the toy. The head rubs at his prostate every time he rocks his hips, and it’s good but it’s still _not enough_ because Harry wishes Louis were here right now, that it was his alpha’s cock pushing into him, his alpha’s hands running all over his sweaty skin, his alpha’s mouth sucking marks and bruises into his neck that’ll last for—

It takes a second for a noise other than his ragged breaths and the wet sounds of him fucking himself to break past his ears. It takes another second for him to realize that what he’s hearing is Shania Twain’s _Still The One_ , and then a few more before he remembers that it’s the ringtone he specifically set for Louis’ contact. Louis is calling him.

With great difficulty he stills himself, sitting fully onto the toy as one of his shaky hands blindly searches for his phone. He finds it after some fumbling on the sheets, his thumb leaving a sweaty mark on the screen when he swipes to answer the call.

 _“Harry, darling?”_ comes Louis’ slightly worried voice, and Harry barely manages to bite back a whimper at the sound of his alpha speaking into his ear. _“Are you okay, love? I had this feeling and I saw you tried to call me and—”_

“Louis,” Harry cuts in, voice coming out a mix of breathy and like he’s seconds away from crying, and Louis sucks in a breath, immediately knowing what’s going on.

_“I’m on my way home right now.”_

Had Harry been in a more proper state of mind, he would’ve told Louis that it’s okay, that he could wait the hour and a half more, that he doesn’t want to take Louis away from his job. But as he is, Harry only whimpers a small ‘please’ and then Louis’ whispering reassurances into the phone, voice low and already sounding a little strained. Besides, Harry knows that Louis would just tell him that his duties as Harry’s alpha and husband come first before anything else, so even if Harry were thinking more rationally right now he knows nothing he could say would stop Louis from coming right to him.

 _“What are you doing right now, love?”_ The question breaks into Harry’s hazy mind, and he finds himself pressing the phone closer to his ear, hips rotating so that the dildo grinds deep inside him.

“I’m—m’in bed, fucking m’self.”

 _“Yeah?”_ Louis breathes, and Harry moans as the dildo nudges at his prostate. _“With your fingers?”_

Faintly, Harry catches the sound of someone shouting in the distance, of people cheering. Louis’ voice fades for a moment as he talks to someone, and then he’s back, breathing right down the line as he waits for Harry’s response. Harry can almost _smell_ him.

“No,” he manages, trying to focus on the sound of Louis’ breathing, “with—with the dildo.”

 _“Oh, the big one?”_ Louis goes for casual, but there’s a certain strain to his voice that he can’t quite hide. There’s the sound of keys rattling, then a car door slamming shut. _“You need it so bad, don’t you, babe? Need something nice and big to fill you up.”_

Harry _whines,_ lifting himself up from the dildo properly. “Louis, _please_ —hurry, s’not—not as good as you.”

There’s shuffling, presumably as Louis fits his phone between his shoulder and ear. The engine starts, and Harry opens his mouth again, about to tell Louis to end the call and drive safely with what little sense he still has left, but then Louis is saying, _“Are you riding it, baby?”_

A moan slips past Harry’s lips at that, at the same time he starts properly riding the toy. “Yeah. How’d you—”

 _“Just a guess,”_ Louis says, voice dropped even lower. It makes Harry shudder. _“Fuck, bet you look so hot right now. Want you to ride me like that when I get home.”_

“Louis,” Harry whines, “are you driving?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Louis confirms. _“I’m on my way, love.”_

And then the line disconnects, though Harry isn’t sure which one of them ended the call. He doesn’t really care much right now, though, tossing his phone aside carelessly and fucking himself down harder onto the dildo. The promise of Louis coming home soon makes him a little more frantic, the bed starting to rock as he pulls up the length of the toy and then slams himself back down.

With the memory of Louis’ low and breathy voice still fresh in his mind, almost tickling at his ear, along with his whispered _Want you to ride me like that when I get home_ , Harry comes for the second time that morning, making even more of a mess on Louis’ shirt.

~

Harry smells it the moment Louis gets home.

Louis’ scent drifts to him, strong and so obviously turned on that it makes him moan from where he’s lying flat on his back, pushing the dildo in and out of himself. He’s not entirely sure, but it’s probably been half an hour since their call ended, and in that time Harry’s managed to make himself come one more time.

His arms are starting to feel the strain of fucking himself continuously, his entire body starting to ache, but the ache inside him is stronger, and he knows it won’t go away until he’s got Louis’ knot inside him. Before, years and years ago, he would’ve been able to calm down for a few hours during heat after coming three times, but now that’s never enough to sate him. His body knows that he has a mate, every part of him desperately looking for Louis’ touch, and he won’t settle— _can’t_ settle, not until Louis is here.

The door opens suddenly, and Harry inhales deeply as Louis’ scent fills the room, stronger than before, sharper almost. He lifts his head best he can, finding his alpha standing by the doorway, watching him. Louis looks a little rumpled, hair sticking up messily in odd places, probably after having run his fingers through them the entire drive home. He’s wearing an Adidas hoodie and sweats, and he looks absolutely beautiful, everything Harry needs right now.

“Louis,” he says, voice breathy, and that seems to snap Louis out of it. He steps further into the room and closes the door behind him, immediately pulling the hoodie off of his head and tossing it aside. His shirt quickly follows, hair sticking up even more as he tugs the material hurriedly over his head, and then he’s getting out of his sweats and boxers altogether.

Harry can’t help but moan at the sight of Louis naked—of Louis finally _here_ —eyes locking in on the alpha’s cock. Louis is already hard, and Harry’s arse throbs at the thought of having it inside him, big and thick and even better than the dildo he’s been fucking himself with.

When Louis finally climbs on the bed, the first thing he does is climb on top of Harry and pull him in for a messy kiss. Harry responds to it eagerly, parting his lips and letting the alpha lick into his mouth, letting Louis taste how much he needs it. Their naked bodies slide together—Harry had taken off Louis’ shirt after coming a second time, since the fabric had been clinging to his skin to the point of discomfort—and Harry arches into it, skin heating up even more at the points where Louis is touching him.

His legs fall open, letting Louis fit in between them more properly, and he can’t help but keen into Louis’ mouth when he feels their cocks slide against each other. He tries to grind his hips up into it, but Louis’ hands are suddenly there, keeping him pinned down to the bed. Harry makes a small noise from the back of his throat, pulling back from the kiss and gasping for breath.

“Louis,” he manages to say, voice shaking, “Louis, please—”

“Shh,” Louis hushes him, lips pressed to the shell of his ear, “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

“Please,” is all Harry can say in response, and it comes out sounding like a sob.

Louis presses a kiss right below his ear before moving lower, leaving a trail of kisses from Harry’s neck down to his chest—where he pauses to lick over Harry’s nipples, sucking one into his mouth and making Harry whine—down his stomach, over the butterfly tattoo then the laurels by his hips, until Louis’ lying down between Harry’s splayed legs.

Harry’s body feels like it’s on fire, skin burning from where Louis’ mouth touched him. He sucks in a breath when he feels a single finger pressing over his hole, just circling the rim before slipping in.

“So wet,” Louis says, and it almost sounds like he’s in awe, which—Harry presses his burning face into the pillows, feeling embarrassed but also pleased that even after _years_ , Louis still wants him just as much as he wants Louis. “How many times did you come already, baby?”

It takes Harry a while to answer. “Three.”

Louis groans, slipping his finger in further. It slides easily, Harry’s hole already stretched and open. He quickly slips two more fingers inside, and Harry’s body clenches, wanting to keep them in.

When Louis starts finger-fucking him, Harry’s body relaxes once more, thighs spreading further apart. Louis turns his head to press kisses on the insides of his thighs, skin undoubtedly damp beneath his lips.

“Lou, don’t need—m’ready,” Harry says, just as Louis starts crooking his fingers. “Please, fuck me.”

“In a while, love,” Louis says, pulling his fingers out and pressing a kiss against Harry’s inner thigh. “Just giving your body a bit of a break.”

He doesn’t need a bit of a break, he needs Louis’ knot, is what Harry wants to say, but then suddenly all the breath is getting sucked out of his lungs when Louis presses his mouth over him. Harry’s words get lost in his throat, replaced by a choked breath instead, as Louis sets about _licking_ into him.

Louis loves rimming him, of course, but they’ve never really done it while Harry is _in heat_. He leaks too much and he worries that it might put Louis off, but that doesn’t seem to be the case right now as Louis fucking _pushes_ his tongue inside, catching Harry’s taste in his mouth. Harry is helpless but to pull his legs up to his chest, a sob of pleasure wracking his entire body as Louis licks into him as deep as he can get.

He gasps when Louis’ mouth closes around his rim, and then Louis _moans_ like he can’t get enough of the way Harry tastes. The vibrations have Harry choking on another breath, thighs trembling where they’re pressed close to his chest. He’s just starting to take steady breaths when Louis really goes at it, fucking his tongue repeatedly inside and moaning like he’s starved and Harry’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Harry throws his head back onto the pillows, mouth falling open on a whimper. He’s sweating everywhere, his hair falling out of its bun and sticking to his forehead, but he can’t be bothered to do anything about it, not when Louis’ tongue is making his body burn up in all the best ways. His cock twitches against his stomach, and it’s almost painful, how hard he is—he tries to get his mouth working, tries to find his words, because he doesn’t really want to come again before Louis can even get inside him.

Fortunately, Louis seems to have sensed this—he pulls back and sits up, licking his lips. The lower half of his face is wet and he’s staring at Harry with dark, hungry eyes. It makes Harry shiver.

“Going to ride me now, love?” Louis asks, Harry nodding before the question is even finished.

It only takes them a few seconds to get into position, Harry’s entire body trembling with anticipation. He straddles Louis once the alpha’s leaning against the headboards, and his hands immediately reach behind him so he can push Louis’ cock into him. Louis beats him to it though, holding his own cock around the base and pressing his other hand on Harry’s lower back, pushing him forward until their chests are pressed together.

Harry buries his face against Louis’ neck, breathing him in. His scent makes Harry shudder, cock blurting precome where it’s pressed between them. He holds onto the alpha’s shoulders as he feels a nudge between his cheeks, then there’s the head of Louis’ cock pressed against his hole. He tries to shift back into it, eager to get Louis inside, but the hand on his back stops him from moving.

He whines impatiently and bites at Louis’ neck, getting a breathy chuckle in response. Louis finally lets up after a few seconds and pushes Harry down as he lifts his hips up, and Harry throws his head back as he slowly sinks down onto Louis’ cock.

A small part of him immediately settles down the moment he’s fully seated on his alpha’s cock, body feeling stretched and blissfully full. The larger part of him, however, burns up even more, fire licking at his veins as Louis pushes his hips up a little and tries to get himself even deeper.

Harry rocks back into it, shifting his hips side to side a few times as his body adjusts slightly. Louis feels so _big_ inside him, even bigger than the dildo had been, especially in girth. Even after years of doing this, he still manages to overwhelm Harry sometimes.

“Ready when you are, love,” Louis says through gritted teeth, and Harry realizes his body’s been clenching and unclenching around Louis’ cock like it doesn’t know what to do. Louis’ hands are fisted in the sheets, trying his best to keep still, and Harry usually appreciates that, really, but—but he’s _in heat_ , and right now he just needs to get fucked _hard_.

So with that, he pulls himself up slowly, biting back a small whimper at the feeling of Louis’ cock dragging inside him inch by inch. He holds himself for a second, just the head of Louis’ cock left inside him, before he drops himself back down. He doesn’t keep it slow, immediately settling into a fast and hard rhythm that has Louis cursing and gripping onto his hips tight enough to bruise. Harry moans happily at that, wanting Louis’ rough hands to leave marks all over his body.

“Fuck,” Louis groans, helping Harry bounce on his cock with the grip on his hips, “yeah babe, just like that. That’s so fucking good. You feel so good.”

Harry’s face feels like it’s on fire, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he rides Louis even faster. He moans when Louis starts meeting him halfway, pushing his own hips up so that he manages to get in just that tiny bit deeper. Harry’s thighs start trembling, Louis hitting his prostate on every thrust up.

“Louis,” he cries out, stomach twisting tight. “Right there, fuck—”

Louis chooses that moment to reach up and tug Harry’s hair out of its loose bun, letting it fall all over his sweaty face. He grabs a handful and tugs, just once, but it’s enough to have Harry twitching, clenching around his cock even tighter. He lets go after a second, moving his hand lower so he can pinch one of Harry’s nipples. He ducks his head, lips closing around Harry’s other nipple as he fucks up into him harder.

Harry’s entire body is shaking, feeling like he’s on the verge of yet another orgasm. He’s leaking continuously, making a complete mess all over Louis’ thighs, but instead of being put off that just makes the entire thing hotter for the both of them. Harry can _hear_ their fucking, and not just skin slapping against skin—he can also hear the slick sounds of Louis’ cock driving into him, over and over and over. It’s filthy and that, mixed with the actual feeling of Louis inside him and the _smell_ of pure sex in the air, is more than enough to drive Harry over the edge.

He comes with a cry, his mate’s name falling from his lips. Louis keeps on fucking him through it, even as Harry tightens around him to the point of it being _too much_. Despite having come four times already, Harry finds that his body is still burning with need, aching to be filled completely with Louis’ knot.

“Shit,” Louis curses under his breath, and Harry doesn’t have much time to recover from his orgasm before Louis’ flipping them over and pulling out. Harry hears himself whine but he doesn’t fully register it, mind hazy.

His body feels empty, suddenly, and for some reason that makes his eyes sting. He tries to gain control of his limbs, tries to spread himself wider to get Louis back inside.

“You’ve got me so wet, baby,” Louis says, and when Harry’s eyes focus back on the alpha he sees that Louis’ kneeling in between Harry’s splayed legs with his hand stroking his cock. Harry can see just how _slick_ Louis’ cock is, and the knowledge that _he’s_ the reason for it makes Harry’s face burn with both embarrassment and pleasure.

There’s not much warning before the head of Louis’ cock is pressing against his hole, and then he’s sliding back in, but not all the way. Harry mewls as Louis pushes halfway in, and it’s so good but at the same time it’s _not enough._

“You look so good like this,” Louis says, eyes locked on where his cock pushes into Harry. He drags his hips back slowly, continues, “And you feel so good, too. Feel so good around me, so tight.” He presses all the way inside, then, and Harry chokes on a breath. “So hot and wet. I can feel you leaking all over my cock.” He pulls out an inch before fucking back inside, sharp and quick, emitting something like a high-pitched squeak from Harry’s lips. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Hot,” Harry blurts out, back arching and hips pushing back against Louis, “so hot, Lou—you’re so, fuck, so hot inside me. So full.”

“Yeah?” Louis groans, and then he’s pulling out, flipping Harry over, and pushing back inside, all in the span of five seconds. Dazed, Harry can only press his face into the pillows and arch his back, knees tucked underneath him. Louis doesn’t waste any time fucking into him this time, gripping tightly onto his hips with one hand and tugging Harry’s hair with the other. “Love it like this, don’t you?”

Harry responds by moaning into his pillow, loving the way Louis pulls on his hair in time with each thrust.

“Love having you like this,” Louis continues, apparently taking Harry’s response—or lack of one—as a sign for him to keep on talking. Which, Harry isn’t exactly opposed to, since hearing Louis talk utter filth to him in _that_ tone of voice makes his entire body shiver. “I can’t wait to fill you up, m’gonna knot you, baby, get you full of my come—”

And—and then Harry suddenly realizes something. He’s in _heat,_ and Louis is fucking him _bare_ , about to _knot_ him. Which means—the realization hits him hard, making him gasp. He lifts his face from the pillows as he rocks back onto Louis’ cock, cries, “Louis, Louis, I’m—m’not on—”

Louis gets it the next time he thrusts in, keeping himself pressed deep. “Holy shit, Harry, you aren’t—”

“No,” Harry manages, gasping because _this can be it_. “I’m not on—not on birth control.”

There’s a short moment of silence, and then, “Fuck, Harry, I know we haven’t talked about this properly but—”

“I want it,” Harry cuts in, gasping when Louis’ hips stutter forward even more, seemingly on their own, fingers tightening on his hair for a second before releasing. “I want that with you.”

“Yes,” Louis says, _gasps_ , “yes, I want that, too.”

 _Fuck_. This is happening.

The next time Louis pulls out, he’s less rough, a little more careful. The movement of his hips are still powerful, thrusts still hard enough to have Harry crying out, but he’s not pulling so hard on Harry’s hair anymore, and his hand has moved to Harry’s front, fingers splayed over his stomach. Something tugs low in Harry’s gut at that, at the same time something warm blooms in his chest.

Louis leans down, draping over Harry’s back so that they’re pressed together, sweat-slick skin sliding against each other. He presses his lips to Harry’s ear, whispers, “Want you to carry my babies, Harry.”

Neither of them seemed to be expecting Harry’s reaction to that—he throws his head back, moaning out a ‘yes’ as he pushes back into Louis’ thrusts. He feels Louis’ fingers press tighter into the skin of his stomach, for just a second, before they start rubbing small circles over Harry’s skin.

“Yeah?” Louis breathes into his ear. “You’re going to look so amazing, Haz. Gonna be positively glowing.” He presses a kiss behind Harry’s ear. “Gonna take good care of you, love. Gonna be so careful with you.”

Fuck. Talking about it, about getting Harry _pregnant_ , is making Harry’s stomach twist with heat and chest clench with… with _something_ , an emotion he can’t give a name to at the moment. There’s just something about it, something that makes him want to give everything, surrender himself completely to Louis, even though he already has.

Maybe it’s because he’s wanted this for so long, the both of them, and now they’re actually here. Or maybe it’s because of the way Louis is being right now, a beautiful and contrasting mix of hard and gentle, with the way his hips are still snapping into Harry, pounding at his prostate, but his voice is low and breathy and _fond_. Either way, Harry can feel himself nearing the edge yet another time, but judging by the swelling he can feel at the base of Louis’ cock every time the alpha fucks into him, he knows that this is affecting Louis just as much.

Both of Louis’ hands are on Harry’s stomach now, tracing circles over his skin. He pulls them up after a minute so that they’re both kneeling, Harry’s thighs splayed open over Louis’. They’re just rolling their hips together now, Louis’ cock grinding deep, nudging at Harry’s spot with each shift. He’s close, Harry can tell.

“So beautiful,” Louis whispers, and Harry moans. “Going to look so beautiful once you’re carrying our baby, going to be the perfect father.”

“Louis,” Harry whimpers, “please.”

Louis presses a kiss on his shoulder. “You’re close, love?”

Harry nods, shifting back, rolling his hips over Louis’. “Please, m’gonna come.”

“Go ahead, baby,” Louis says, then, “I’m about to come, too. Gonna fill you up, gonna get you pregnant.”

Harry’s back arches as he comes, crying out Louis’ name as his cock kicks and shoots come weakly over his already-messy stomach. He hears Louis groan behind him, fucking up into his arse a few more times before his knot pops in and locks inside of Harry. The feeling of his come pulsing deep makes Harry’s own cock spurt weakly one last time, and then Louis’ laying them down on their side, taking care to keep his hips still so that his knot doesn’t pull at Harry’s rim.

A few minutes pass before Harry sighs, pushing his arse back onto Louis and clenching around his knot. Louis lets out a soft moan and pushes his hips up, cock pulsing more come inside. Harry shudders at the knowledge that he’s currently fertile and full of Louis’ come.

“You _did_ want it, too, right?” Louis asks after a moment, and Harry blinks, turning his head as much as he can.

He can’t see Louis’ face, but he can hear the slightest doubt in his voice, probably worried that Harry practically begging to get knocked up was just a heat of the moment thing. Which is just ridiculous, so Harry reaches back and slaps whatever part of Louis he can reach. “Of course I did, silly. I _do._ ”

Louis’ voice is brighter and happier the next time he speaks. “Just making sure.”

“Do you?” Harry asks, before clarifying, “Want it as well, I mean.”

Louis’ squeezes his arms around Harry’s waist, before resting one hand on Harry’s belly. “A hundred percent. I want to be a father with you, Harry. I want to see little me and you’s running around the house.”

Warmth fills Harry’s chest, making his heart flutter. “I want that with you, too. I want to start a family with you, want to experience everything with you.”

Louis’ answer is in the form of a kiss on the back of his neck. “I love you.”

Harry lays a hand on top of Louis’ where it’s still resting on his stomach, squeezing once. “I love you, too.”

A few minutes pass, with just the two of them breathing each other in, and then Harry asks, “Do you think this one will do it?”

Louis’ chest rumbles with a soft laugh behind him. “I dunno, Haz. I hope so.” He presses even closer, mouth brushing the shell of Harry’s ear, “But we have three days, at the very least, to try all we want. I’m gonna get you pregnant, Harry, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Harry shudders, feeling a smile tug at his lips. He can definitely get on board with that.

~

It’s nearing the end of the academic year and Harry, for one of the last few times, lets his class have their free art time. It makes him smile to himself, albeit a little sadly, watching his students scurry around the room exchanging paint and drawings with friends. This happens every year—school ends, his kids move on to first grade, and he gets another batch of wide-eyed and curious children to teach—but it doesn’t really get any easier, saying goodbye.

This batch, particularly, has been attached to him a little more compared to his previous classes. They’re sweet and polite, although extremely messy and loud at times (which Harry also secretly loves), and they always ask Harry about his life, about Louis, about what his favorite flowers are. They’re curious and highly interested in what Harry has to say, gazing up at him with wide-eyed wonder whenever he told stories about his personal life—like the town he grew up in, the bakery he used to work at, the ice cream shop his mum used to take him to during weekends—and in exchange they tell him stories of their own—like Miller’s bicycle his papa gave him for his last birthday, Maddie’s tea parties with her stuffed bears, Clare’s newborn baby brother, and Rosie’s newfound love for singing and performing.

In a way, it feels like his students are his children.

That makes him smile, something genuine and hopeful. He places a hand on his stomach, feeling warmth blooming in his chest at the thought of what’s about to happen that afternoon. For the first half of art time, Harry asked the kids to help him plan a little surprise for Louis, who he texted to come over for the last hour of class that day. Louis had responded with a _‘why ?’_ which was quickly followed by a _‘be there tho. love u xx’_ and Harry had to set his phone aside just to make sure he won’t text Louis _why_ and ruin the surprise (he just can’t _wait_ to tell his husband, his mate—he’s found out just four days ago and he’s been planning this since).

As though summoned by his thoughts, his phone pings with a text and he quickly reads it over. _‘b there in 10 mins x’_ is all it says, and Harry squeaks, turning to his batch of six-year-olds. “Okay, everyone! Louis is almost here.”

The kids stare at him for all of two seconds before they leap into action, Rosie standing on one of the tables and yelling out instructions while the rest of the kids pick up crumpled pieces of paper and throw them into the trash bin at the back corner of the room. Adrian starts pushing tables to the side so that the center space will be clear, the rest of the boys quickly moving to help him, and then everyone is standing in their places, forming a half-circle. They’re all smiling eagerly, some of them hiding their giggles behind their palms, and Harry’s heart swells with so much love for these kids.

It’s about five minutes later that Louis arrives, knocking on the already-open door. Harry has just finished giving his students a talk, reminding them of what their plan is. When he turns to the door, he sees Louis peeking inside the room, eyes curious.

“Well,” he says, “this certainly isn’t the paint-filled madness I envisioned your room would be today.” Harry giggles at that and some of the students laugh, waving and greeting Louis with hello’s.

Harry heads over to Louis, heart beating fast in his chest. He stumbles, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves, and his feet catch on the carpet. He trips forward, but Louis is quick to move, catching Harry in his arms. Harry looks up, grins sheepishly, and whispers, “Oops?”

Louis’ smile is soft. “Hi.” He glances over Harry’s shoulder, asks, “What’s all this, then?”

“Right.” Harry straightens up, feeling his face flush as he gestures at Louis to step inside. “The kids and I have something to tell you.”

“Oh?” Louis lifts an eyebrow, walking towards the center of the half-circle.

Harry follows him, heart thudding in his chest. He clears his throat, willing the lump in his throat to go away. Briefly, he wonders whether this was how Louis felt minutes before he proposed to Harry—whether his chest was filled with the same wonderful yet chaotic mix of anticipation and love, with the slightest hint of doubt and worry; whether he was envisioning a future with Harry, like Harry is now.

“Um,” he clears his throat once more when his voice comes out sounding squeaky, and he wills himself to hold Louis’ gaze. There’s something in Louis’ eyes, an emotion Harry can’t— _won’t_ —put a name to, at least not yet. He needs to focus. “I have something to tell you. Something really important. I just wasn’t sure _how_ I should tell you, because, uh, it’s really special? And I wanted this moment to be special, too, and like—the kids told me they’d help, so.”

He trails off, and Miller steps forward, holding a piece of paper in his hands. He tugs on the hem of Louis’ shirt and smiles widely up at him, one of his front teeth missing. “Remember that drawing I made of you and Teacher Harry?” he asks.

Louis smiles, probably thinking of the drawing pinned to their fridge door. “Of course I remember. It was very lovely.”

“Well,” Miller starts, glancing at Harry quickly, eyes practically sparkling, “we all decided to make you another one! Because you and Teacher Harry are our favorites.”

Louis’ eyes look suspiciously shiny when he accepts the drawing from Miller, whispering a small ‘thank you.’ Miller beams before skipping back to his place in the half-circle, and when Harry looks at them he sees his students biting back smiles, some of them practically bouncing on their feet in excitement. It makes his heart swell in his chest, filled with fondness and adoration, both for these kids and for the man standing in front of him.

When he looks back at Louis, he sees that the alpha is already looking at the drawing. Harry holds his breath, waiting, counting the seconds in his head. He makes it up to eight before Louis finally looks up. His eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“Harry,” is all he says at first, the name coming out in a rush of breath.

Harry can feel his own eyes starting to water, and he laughs, simply says, “Yeah?”

Louis pulls him in for a hug, drawing clutched in one hand and the back of Harry’s shirt in the other. Harry wraps his own arms around Louis’ neck, breathing him in, feeling like his chest is expanding to ten times its size just so it can accommodate how big his heart feels at this very moment.

“I’ve always wanted to start a family with you,” is what Louis says after a while, and Harry feels like floating, feels like he can just lift off from this floor and fly high into the sky with how _happy_ he is. The only thing keeping him down, keeping him grounded in this moment, is Louis. Everything is Louis.

“Me too,” he says once he finally finds his voice, feeling a single tear roll down his cheek. “I’ve been dreaming of becoming a parent, with you.”

Louis pulls back, and he’s crying as well, but the smile on his face is brighter than Harry’s ever seen it. It reminds Harry of their wedding day, dressed in suits the color of the sea, their shoes sinking in the soft sand as waves gently rolled onto the shore, the air smelling of salt as they exchanged vows and slipped rings onto each other’s fingers, right over where they had infinity symbols tattooed, their eyes bright with promises of forever. Harry’s always believed in that promise, and this moment is one of the many reminders that his faith is well-placed.

“We’re really having a baby?” Louis asks, and his voice cracks a little.

Harry can’t find his voice, lost somewhere in between the rocks of the beach where they promised forever to each other, in the dark spaces of the club their paths first crossed, in the sheets of their bed where a new life was formed between the two of them. So he just nods, feeling more tears dripping down his cheeks.

Louis laughs, and it’s a beautiful sound, wet and happy and hopeful. He bends down, presses a kiss over the top of Harry’s stomach, and whispers, “My baby.” He straightens back up, kisses Harry on the nose, repeats, “My baby.”

Rosie apparently takes that as the cue to start singing the song Harry taught them, back when they asked what Harry and Louis’ theme song was (“Every fairy tale couple has a theme song!” Laura had shouted, listing off some of her favorite Disney couples and their theme songs. “What’s yours, Teacher Harry?”). Everyone quickly follows, most of them singing off-key, but everything is still perfect.

Louis looks like he’s about to cry more, but instead of doing that he just sets the drawing down on Harry’s table, does a little bow and asks, “May I have this dance?”

Harry laughs wetly, nodding and taking Louis’ hand, placing his other one on Louis’ shoulder. Louis touches his waist softly, and together they sway side to side, pressed close to each other until Harry can’t tell their heartbeats apart. He feels breath tickling his ear as Louis leans closer to him, singing in a whisper, “ _Looks like we’ve made it, look how far we’ve come my baby._ ”

And lying on the table—as the children sing and start dancing along with Harry and Louis, as Louis whispers even more promises of forever into Harry’s ear, as Harry marvels at the life that’s starting to bloom inside him—is a painting of a blue and green couple holding hands, with a red heart above them. Except this time, there’s a smaller figure between them, painted in yellow.

A hope, a promise, a new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


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